


A Breath Of Fresh Air

by Haicrescendo



Series: Fire Nation Yacht Club [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, awkward kids making awkward friends, because uncle, but learning to be better, but not for long, fire lord uncle will make him regret it, fuck your palace fuck your volcano, fun fact: zuko is super bad at it, gentle and well intentioned manipulation, hakoda is definitely sokka’s dad, hand waving canon because fuck it, hello zuko here, it’ll make this make way more sense, just throw the kid on the deck with a towel and let him take a nap, oops it’s definitely child abuse, peopleing for dummies, please read choke on your own ashes first, someone please tell this child that dissociation is not a healthy coping mechanism, teaching your kid the merits of self care, the team is really fucking grateful, the team’s name is zuko, there are no helicopter parents here but there is one (1) very protective uncle, uncle buys a boat, uncle takes one for the team, who will fight literally anybody over his kid, with politics, zuko as the living embodiment of the “this is fine” dog, zuko’s mental health is pretty solidly terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: Everyone has their breaking point. This is what happens after you’ve broken. In which healing is a process and also it kind of sucks.A companion piece to “Choke On Your Own Ashes”, fondly known as “that fic with boatlord!Iroh.”
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Fire Nation Yacht Club [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870876
Comments: 445
Kudos: 4007
Collections: I'd cry over you, The Best of Avatar the Last Airbender





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this planned from the minute I wrote “Choke On Your Own Ashes” because as a whole, that story is very, very personal to me on a very deep level and I didn’t feel right just leaving it on a sort-of hopeful note. I knew that I’d need to write what happened after, if only for my own sake.
> 
> So here you go.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

The sun comes up the next morning.

Zuko almost hadn’t thought that it would. He knows, logically, that of course it would, that nothing that happened the day before would keep the sun from rising, and the world from turning, but it would have been poetic if it had. 

He wakes in the same bed he fell asleep in.

It’s not his bed or anyone else’s that he knows. Too nice to be the servants’ quarters. Maybe for foreign guests? Actual guests, back from when the royal family had guests and not political prisoners? 

Zuko rubs at his eyes.

He can feel the sun more easily than he has in months, trapped in the darkness underneath the keep, and it’s hard to feel soothed when he’s still trying to figure out what the hell happened. His memories are vague and scattered, mostly, except for blood, and pain, and  _ Azula’s body on the floor _ , and whiting out only to find himself face to face with Uncle some time later.

Ozai killed Azula, Zuko killed Ozai, and Uncle…

Stayed his hand.

Zuko can’t handle this.

He rolls over and shoves his face into the pillow. Everything smells like ash and smoke and blood, and he can’t  _ think, _ and he can’t  _ breathe _ . He’s vaguely aware of somebody opening the door, and then abruptly backpedaling out, only to be replaced with…

Zuko doesn’t have to see to know that it’s Uncle, because Uncle is the only person on the planet who’s ever just held him for no other reason than that he could and that he wanted to and that Zuko  _ needed _ it. And spirits, Zuko needs it right now. He lets himself be pulled out of his pillow nest and into a pair of strong arms, lets himself breathe in the floral scent of jasmine tea until it overwhelms everything else.

And eventually, he remembers how to breathe again.

Pulls himself away slightly, looks Uncle up and down. However long Zuko’s been out, it’s been long enough for Uncle Iroh to change clothes, and long enough for—

The five pointed flame sparkles on the man’s head.

Zuko lets his eyes drop closed.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathes quietly, under his breath. “ _ Fuck _ .” He doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen. Zuko sure as hell doesn’t want to be Fire Lord but he knows that Uncle  _ didn’t want it _ . He stares, gold eyes stricken, at the crown.  _ He didn’t want it _ .

“Be calm, Prince Zuko,” Uncle’s voice is an easy rumble in his ears, “It is fine. You are fine.”

Well  _ of course  _ Zuko’s fine, he thinks, borderline hysterically. Of course he’s fine! He’s not the one suckered into being Fire Lord, even though it’s supposed to be him, even though the very idea of wearing that crown makes him want to throw up—

Oh, he’s hyperventilating. That’s cool.

Uncle squeezes his pieces back together again, and Zuko scrubs a hand across his eyes.

“How are you feeling, Nephew?”

That is a loaded fucking question, right there. Zuko takes the easy route.

“...I’m okay.”

“ _ Zuko _ .”

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It’s not that fucking hard.

“I’m...not good,” he answers finally. “Really not good.” It’s the only way he can say it without screaming. Zuko’s brain feels like it’s full of sheeppig fleece. “How…” he begins, and then changes his mind. “What happens now?”

What’s going to happen to him? What happened to the Avatar? What’s going to happen to his  _ country?  _

Uncle’s face softens.

“Once you feel up to it, I think it best that you bathe. From there, I’d like to...well, if it’s something you’d want, I’d like to adopt you.”

Zuko’s brain screeches to a slamming halt, and Uncle keeps talking like he hasn’t just turned Zuko’s entire existence out in its head.

“From there, well, I don’t know how much you remember, but I think neither of us find this palace appealing anymore? I thought we could go down to the harbor and buy a boat.”

Zuko is still stuck on the other part.

“...You want to adopt me?  _ Why?” _

Zuko is a friendless, traitorous nothing who murdered his own  _ father _ , who can’t stop trembling long enough to get his shit together, who doesn’t deserve somebody like Uncle looking at him like he’s precious. He’s been so ungrateful and so awful and so…so…he can’t even speak. Any more words he has die in his throat.

Uncle says something about Fire Sages and heirs and  _ protect you _ but Zuko doesn’t hear it, just lets the ocean in his head take him back under.

* * *

Taking a bath is nice.

The water’s good and hot, and it’s cleansing all the way down to his bones. Zuko knows that it’s not that easy to wash away the ashes, but it’s nice to feel, just for a little bit, that he can.

He’s not sure how long he sits, mostly submerged in the tub with suds up to his chin, but it doesn’t feel like it’s long enough before a servant (one of the few who managed to escape the ordeal alive and relatively unscathed) thrusts a bath sheet in his general direction, asks timidly if he needs help.

He doesn’t, not with this at least.

He doesn’t want to get out but he does in the end, and puts on the clothes set out for him (clean and red and soft, easy to wear and move around in).

Uncle adopts him.

Zuko doesn’t pay attention to most of it. He goes where Uncle tells him to go, stands where he wants him, kneels when asked to be given the crown of a prince. Again. Vaguely he notices the Avatar and his friends watching from the side (Curious? Horrified? Zuko doesn’t know, nor does he have it in himself to care.) Zuko doesn’t have the space in him for autonomy, and it’s nice to just zone out and be told what to do, and feel  _ nothing _ .

Maybe it should feel wrong to not feel anything, but honestly it’s a relief to just exist without emotional investment. 

He notices Uncle’s looks of pointed concern and feels nothing, just a vague sense of floating.

He notices how Fire Sage Xin watches him as he stutters over the ritual statements, and feels nothing.

The crown on his head sits heavy, but it’s fine; Zuko can handle that much.

It’s fine. 

Uncle buys a boat. 

The man he buys it from looks terrified out of his mind to be selling to the Fire Lord, or maybe he’s just terrified with life in general. Zuko doesn’t know but is perfectly content to remain two steps behind him while he negotiates, standing placidly next to Sokka and ignoring the other boy’s dropped jaw and wide eyes. Zuko cannot make himself care.

The world goes on, apparently, even when it seems like it should stop.

* * *

Zuko’s return to his body is a harsh one. 

One moment, he’s laying in his bed in his room on Uncle’s new boat, and the next he’s throwing himself out of it and straight to the floor with the sensation of  _ everything _ rocking through his core. He misses being numb because now that he’s not, it’s too much.

Too much sensation, too much feeling, too much smoke and blood and ash to fill his lungs and heart.

It should have been like gently waking up from a dream but it’s like he’s fallen asleep instead, straight into a nightmare. Only the nightmare is real life and not some spirit tale told to naughty children. 

Zuko trembles on the floor, his body wracked with dry heaves, and tries to ride it out. Hold on and try not to die is all he can do right now and he’s sure it’s not going to be enough, but eventually after what feels like forever, Zuko settles into the rocking of the waves and lets them calm him down enough that he can think.

He’s lost time.

How much time Zuko has no idea. He has vague recollections of moving from place to place, of eating little bits here and there when asked, but mostly sleeping. Nothing in his timeline gives him any idea of how much time has actually passed. He’s at least slept enough that he doesn’t feel like dropping dead, so that’s a plus.

The amount of questions he has are painful, and Zuko has no idea what to ask first, but he knows where to start.

Find Uncle.

So Zuko drags himself to his feet and pushes through the door. He’d thought he would remember where he was going but he doesn’t, and wanders helplessly through the halls of the ship until finally he sees another person and hails them down. Not Uncle, but they’ll do.

“Excuse me,” he rasps, and the person turns, startled.

“Oh! Prince Zuko!” The girl drops into a bow. “Can I help you?”

“Um, my uncle—I mean, the Fire Lord, please? Where can I find him?”

Nobody ever dared to seek out Father  _ on purpose _ , but Uncle will be a different kind of Fire Lord. Of this, Zuko is absolutely sure.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she says politely, “Right this way.” She leads him down a hall and up a flight of stairs that end up leading the deck. They walk in silence and then, eventually, she gives him a side eye. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but it’s good to see you up. We were worried.”

“...Why?” flies out of Zuko’s mouth before he can stop it. The maid stops abruptly and nearly trips over her own feet, and Zuko reaches out a hand instinctively to catch her by the arm. She looks him in the eyes, pale with shock.

“My lord, I mean no offense, I promise,” she squeaks, “But…” she trails off, rethinks, starts again, “Um. I was, um... _ we _ , I mean, we’re all so grateful to you.” Zuko feels suddenly ill and his face must show it, because she abruptly switches topics. “His Majesty, Fire Lord Iroh, has asked all of us to make sure that if you’ve any needs at all to  _ please _ let us know. Anything at all that you might need.”

They’ve reached their destination. The maid bows deeply to Zuko, and then to Uncle, who’s sitting sedately on a cushion in the sun, before backing away to an appropriate distance and then leaving altogether.

“Zuko! You’re awake! Please, come sit.” Uncle beckons him over and Zuko goes. It’s easy to lower himself down onto the warm metal and let himself bask a little in the sunshine. “Do you want a cushion?”

No, he doesn’t, because honestly he’s a bit tempted to sprawl out on his back and let the sun take him away. Zuko doesn’t say that, just shrugs and accepts the tea he’s offered without protest. It’s not too hot, but goes down like a panacea, slightly sweet but warm with spice like he prefers.

“Cinnamon, Uncle?”

“You never did appreciate the floral blends,” Uncle replies with a smile. “You seem more like yourself today.” 

It’s a very kind way of saying that Zuko looks less like garbage than he did before, even though Zuko’s pretty sure that that’s probably not true at all. He definitely still feels like garbage.

“I am…” Here? Alive? Continuing to exist on this mortal plane, unlikely though it was? “A little confused.” Zuko has  _ so many questions  _ and no idea where to start. “You bought a boat.”

“I did. You were there for that, I believe.”

Zuko nods. Baseline established.

“And...you’re Fire Lord.”

“Yes.”

“And you adopted me.”

“You were there for that, too.”

“ _ Why _ ? I’m here now, and I’m trying to understand.” Now that he feels everything so acutely, now that he’s rested, now that he’s...well, stable would be a strong word, but at the very least Zuko feels like this is a conversation he can have without crying. Much. Hopefully? Probably. 

With one little word, Zuko can tell how deeply he’s just cut and feels lower than low for it. He still doesn’t regret asking. He needs to know.

He’ll understand if it was for convenience, or for necessity, or for  _ pity _ .

But it doesn’t mean that it won’t still hurt.

“Zuko, my beloved  _ nephew _ .” Not son, not prince, not traitor, not murderer. “I could say that it was because you needed me, or because our country needed you, or because it only makes sense. But that’s not why. The truth is that in the end, your father was right. The truth is that your uncle is a soft, sentimental man who loves you more than anything else in the world.”

Zuko’s seen what passes for a father’s love in his family and wants nothing to do with it. Uncle is not his father, and he doesn’t want him to be. Not ever.

He’s  _ better _ .

Zuko drags in a trembling breath, holds, releases. He repeats the process until his hands stop shaking around his teacup. He stares into the remnants of cinnamon at the bottom, little dusty red speckles of spice, and resists the urge born of  _ so many dirty teacups  _ in Ba Sing Se to wipe it out before it dries.

“And...what of the Avatar? And...the war?” 

That subject is so unbelievably sore that Zuko’s not sure how he manages to even ask the question without wincing. He’d really thought, the day of the eclipse, that he was going to be able to just release Uncle, and then run off to teach Aang firebending. Zuko’s plans have almost always been terrible ones, but that one might have been right up there along with thinking he was ready to sit in on the war councils.

“The war is as over as we can get it,” Uncle replies. “Officially, yes, it’s over. We will be looking at years of talks and negotiations of reparations, but it is over. Avatar Aang and his friends have gone to the Earth Kingdom to talk with King Kuei. We should be getting our first foreign delegation within the next few days. Young Sokka’s father, in fact.”

Zuko feels sick with a relief so intense he barely manages to catch his teacup when it slips out of his hands.

“That’s not something you need to be concerning yourself over, however. That’s my business to worry about, not yours.” From anyone else it would be a rebuke, but from Uncle it’s gentle. 

“And what...what responsibilities would you give me?” Zuko asks tentatively. He’s not sure what’s expected from princes in peacetime. He was a pretty terrible one in wartime, too. 

Uncle smiles at him.

“For now, your only responsibilities include allowing yourself to heal. Your body has been weakened, and your heart is unbalanced. You need rest and time. Let me worry about politics.”

Zuko flinches.

“That is not a slight to you,” Uncle continues. “I would not give you that weight to carry. Take some time for yourself, first, and we will talk about it when the time comes.”

Take some time for himself?

Zuko doesn’t even know what the fuck that means. All of his time has always gone to other people. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself without a job or a duty. It shows on his face, because Uncle reaches out to take him by the hands and squeeze warmly.

“It would ease my heart to know that you were healing properly and allowing yourself to rest. For now, that’s all I need from you.”

And somehow that hurts too, that Zuko’s so useless that all he’s expected to do is exist, like a baby. He knows he’s lucky enough to be alive, if anyone could call it luck or lucky, but the idea of having nothing to offer at all is a hard one to stomach.

He doesn’t know how to just  _ be _ . How can he when he’s never just been anything? Zuko doesn’t know how to hell to do that.

He doesn’t know what to say so in the end he doesn’t say anything, just folds his hands back into his robes and curls inwards. His body hurts, and even though Zuko feels better than he did, he’s still not...great. Or even good. Okay would be a stretch.

“Uncle—-I mean, Fire Lord— I mean…” Zuko trails off, frustrated with himself. 

“Do not worry yourself about it,” Uncle tells him gently. “You may call me whatever you wish in casual settings. When formality is required, we will discuss it.”

Zuko bows his head slightly. He understands that, at least.

“I think I just want to go back to bed.”

Maybe if he sleeps for a few more days, he’ll feel better. Or maybe he’ll just stop feeling things again. He wouldn’t even be mad about it.

“The doctor says that you will heal faster if you are exposed to more sun. Your time under the keep has damaged your chi reserves. Lihon has already been so kind as to bring out a chair for you.”

The ‘chair’ is literally a lounge chair that’s definitely intended for the beach, half reclined and covered with a towel that definitely came from the bathroom. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but it’s been set out in the largest sun spot on the deck. It looks embarrassingly inviting.

Zuko wants so badly to resist, because he’s not a  _ baby  _ who needs naps in the sun, but it looks too comfortable for words and the idea of just being able to soak himself in warmth eventually becomes too much to fight against. Uncle methodically nurses his second cup as Zuko drags himself to his feet and wordlessly flops into the chair.

If it could even be called a chair, because it’s definitely more like a daybed, and it’s unfairly comfortable.

Zuko has more questions ( _ so  _ many more questions) but that would probably involve opening his eyes and he just can’t do that right now. His bones feel like liquid, and Zuko has a vague awareness of people moving around him and absolutely, definitely not giving a shit about it. There’s a familiarity in some of the footsteps but he’s too close to passing out again to think too hard about it.

He yawns so hard his jaw cracks, and a startled laugh is all he hears before he’s rolling over, curling up, and falling asleep.

* * *

The deck’s empty when Zuko wakes up. 

It’s not been longer than a few hours but he feels rejuvenated and less like he needs to crawl out of his skin than he did before. He slept without nightmares, and he still has feelings. Next to the definitely-not-a-beach-chair, there’s an impractically tiny table that wasn’t there before, and on that table is a covered bowl with a set of chopsticks. Zuko’s positive that he’s eaten at some point but he doesn’t remember what or when, and he’s suddenly ravenous.

The lid comes off and for a moment, all Zuko can do is breathe in the fresh, familiar smell of hot, grass-garlic noodles in a spiced broth peppered with still crunchy bamboo shoots and thinly sliced chilis. It’s about the best thing he can remember eating.

Food in the dungeons was...bad, and Zuko’s determined to not think about it because he feels sort of okay for the first time in a long time and doesn’t want to ruin it. Before that...he’d felt so stressed and sick that he couldn’t even enjoy food before the eclipse. Before that was Ba Sing Se and not being able to afford much of anything for most of it, and before that, ship food. 

He can’t finish it but he manages more than he thought he would, eventually dragging himself out of the chair to drape himself over the railing. They’re docked close to the shore of the main island, and Zuko can see the sloping sides of the caldera in the distance. Just looking at it sends a shiver of frost up his spine, and Zuko’s grateful for the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves, because it’s a physical reminder of where he isn’t.

Who would have ever thought that being reminded so sharply of his banished years would ever fill him with  _ nostalgia _ ? Zuko has thought, at the time, that it was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

Zuko had been very, very wrong.

The worst had always been yet to come.

“Are you alright, sir? Apologies, I mean, Your Highness?”

_ Fuck _ , Zuko knows that voice.

He jerks upwards and whips around, coming face to face with someone he’d thought for sure was definitely dead.

“ _ Jee _ ?” He asks incredulously. “How did…? I thought…” Spirits, he’s an awkward idiot. No wonder he couldn’t pull off a plan. “...sorry. You can, uh, just keep calling me ‘sir’ if it’s easier.”

Jee drops halfway into a bow for a commanding officer, not a prince, and Zuko is horribly, shamefully  _ grateful _ for it. The whole three weeks he and Uncle had floated on that awful little raft trying desperately not to die, they’d been looking for any survivors, and the ones they’d found...well. Death would have been far kinder.

“We survived the North Pole by the skin of our asses, most of us,” Jee says. “The second the moon went out, we ran for it. None of us were ever gonna get any awards for bravery, sir.”

Awards won’t do a dead man good anyway.

“And then, the Gener— Fire Lord Iroh found us, offered us positions to man his...what did he call it? His houseboat?”

Despite himself, Zuko can’t hold in the startled snort of laughter. Only Uncle. Calling this a houseboat is like calling the palace in the caldera a shed.

“Who else is here?”

“Almost everyone,” Jee replies. “A few of the newer guys didn’t want back in, but most of us...well, to be frank, sir, working with you was  _ hard,  _ but you never asked anyone to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself. You didn’t send us into danger, sir, you were always the first one there. Everything started going sideways the minute we split with you.”

“You’re not telling me I’m a...what, a  _ good luck charm _ ?”

Jee shrugs.

“Hasn’t hurt, in my experience.”

Zuko being someone else’s good luck charm is hysterical, and not in the ha-ha way. He’s only ever brought terrible luck upon himself. Still, the immediate jolt of self-loathing isn’t enough to diminish his relief that his crew had  _ lived _ , against all those odds, and that they’re here. 

Jee isn’t a nice man, but he’s a loyal one, and Zuko’s glad, despite himself, that he’s here. As glad as he is about anything right now. 

One of the things that Zuko’s always liked about Jee is that he’s not an idiot and can tell when a conversation has reached its end. The man bows deeply and makes his polite escape, and Zuko reclines again on the daybed posing as a beach chair.

The thing is, Zuko thinks, is that it doesn’t matter what Jee thinks. Everyone learns eventually that Zuko can’t be good luck for anyone.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hakoda proves that he’s definitely Sokka’s father by running his mouth, Iroh proves that a mellow dragon still has plenty of teeth, and Zuko is just straight up not having a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback! Just a heads up for anyone who didn’t know, I’m on tumblr! You can find me @sword-and-stars, [here!](https://sword-and-stars.tumblr.com/) . I often post snippets and sneak peeks of future chapters and future fics, so feel free to follow me if you like!

* * *

If anyone had asked Hakoda where he’d be at the end of the war, he would have said a) dead in prison or b) holding Ozai’s decapitated head in honor of Kya or c) dead somewhere that  _ wasn’t _ prison. 

Preparing to meet with the new Fire Lord, of all people, on his boat like he’s some sort of sensible person, is not something that he’s ever considered. Honestly, he still sort of thinks that it must be some kind of prank, or fever dream, or that he’s definitely still about to die, but definitely still in prison.

Several weeks ago, he’d been sitting in his cell, and then Hakoda found himself whisked away, informed of his immediate release, thank you very much and have a good day. He was provided a new boat, and all of the men he came in with, with a request to look out for further communication via messenger hawks. A hawk had come shortly after. 

The missive had been short and to the point: that the war was over and that Fire Lord Iroh would like to sit down and speak with him about the future, once he had settled a more sensitive matter.

Hakoda had looked at the message and laughed himself half-sick.

And then somehow Sokka had found him and confirmed that it  _ wasn’t  _ a prank, and that Fire Lord Iroh was a good man and really  _ did _ want to talk to him, and could he come to Hakoda’s meeting, and  _ hell no _ he couldn’t come, not a chance. Maybe next time, if negotiations went well, and Hakoda was sure that he wouldn’t take a step into that boat and be immediately murdered where he stood.

Sokka huffs about it (and what the  _ hell _ happened that he trusts the Fire Lord so much?) but eventually gives in.

And then Hakoda sits him down and demands the entire story. All of it, because he clearly has no idea what the hell happened to get them from where they were to here, and if he’s going to go and talk to the Head Ashmaker, he’s going to have all the information he can get.

Hakoda almost regrets asking because it gives him a fucking migraine.

The crown prince (now, and before, with some time in between that he wasn’t), who’d spent a good chunk of time chasing his kids around the world, killed Fire Lord Ozai for killing Princess Azula, who had  _ also _ been chasing his kids around the world. 

Okay, Hakoda can believe that. 

And apparently because of  _ reasons _ , Former Prince-and-General Iroh adopted Zuko and is now Fire Lord. 

Okay, Hakoda can believe that too, but only because it’s coming directly from the mouth of his own kid.

It does not explain why he’s meeting him on a boat, and not in the capital city. Not that Hakoda’s complaining, but he’s never heard of a firebender with proper sea legs, and certainly not the head of the whole country. Sokka just shrugs at him like that explains anything at all.

It doesn’t.

His kid calls the new Fire Lord  _ Uncle _ .

Hakoda shakes the hawk’s missive at him.

“What’s this about sensitive matters, anyway?”

And that’s where things get  _ interesting _ because blunt and honest Sokka gets a very funny look on his face, and shifts uncomfortably where he stands, like he’s trying to come up with something that Hakoda will believe. That does not bode well.

“That’s...not really our business,” he says. 

Which might be true, but it’s still sort of bullshit.

Hakoda gives him a  _ look, _ and Sokka throws his hands up.

“ _ Okay _ , fine, it’s...well, it’s probably because of Zuko,” he answers finally. If it’s possible, he looks even more uncomfortable than before. 

“Like...okay so, I told you how, after Ozai and his armies never showed up, so we all hauled ass to get to the caldera and found  _ that _ ? Like...I don’t know, I know that nobody could really be good after that, but Zuko was really,  _ really not good.  _ It was like he was broken. He just...slept and sat by Uncle and did what he was told. I know you’ve never met him before but trust me, Zuko never just does what he’s told. It was like everything but his body was  _ dead _ , Dad. If I said I was besties with the guy I’d be a liar, but it was  _ awful.  _ Wouldn’t wish that on anybody. _ ” _

Sokka’s clearly been sitting on this for a while, and Hakoda can’t do anything but wrap an arm around him and pull him in for a hug. 

When he thinks of the Fire Nation, the first thing he sees are the monsters that killed his wife, but that’s not right, not anymore. There were even some decent guys in the Boiling Rock. Maybe some of them deserved to be there, maybe not, but it hadn’t stopped Hakoda from playing cards at night. And he can’t reconcile what he knows of Fire Lord Iroh (Uncle Iroh, because Sokka still forgets to use the title) with what he’s seen his predecessor do.

Fire Lord Ozai would never stop a war.

From the way Sokka talks about Iroh, he doesn’t think he wants to start another one.

So, now Hakoda’s here, staring suspiciously at the royal houseboat. Next to him, Bato slaps a hand on his shoulder, and they both watch someone in a red uniform slide a ladder down the side.

“There’s still time to tell them all to go fuck themselves,” his friend offers cheerfully. Hakoda shakes his head.

“We’re here to see if we can make peace. It won’t fail because of us. Please keep Sokka where you can see him.”

Bato smirks but promises nothing, and Hakoda is very, very tempted to shove him off the side. He is a good chief and he does not give in to self-indulgent fantasies, choosing instead to start climbing the ladder to leads to the deck of the Fire Lord’s boat.

He clambers up the top and spends a moment just surveying. The ship’s crew seem to be doing the same thing, until someone steps forward and bows, face professionally blank.

“Chief Hakoda, welcome to the Jasmine Dragon. His Majesty Fire Lord Iroh has been expecting you.”

No one demands he give up his weapons, but when they reach a door at the end of the hall, he’s asked to remove his shoes. Hakoda does, albeit reluctantly, and enters.

Fire Lord Iroh is...not exactly what Hakoda expected. 

The stories surrounding the Dragon of the West are  _ terrifying _ but the man looks...exactly like someone’s kindly uncle. The room is well lit and tastefully decorated, comfortable but not ostentatious. Is that done on purpose?

Fire Lord Iroh sits on a cushion on the floor behind a low table. On the table is a tea set made of sky blue porcelain.

“Welcome, Chief Hakoda. Please, sit.”

Hakoda sits down on the cushion put down for him and tries desperately to not feel weird about it.

“Thank you for your gracious invitation, Fire Lord Iroh,” Hakoda says.

“Cloudberry tea?” the Fire Lord offers. “I know that you are far from home.”

Hakoda gapes, gets himself together, and takes the offered teacup. It’s not just cloudberry, but really good cloudberry, and he spends a few brief seconds taking an appreciative whiff. With the first sip, he knows immediately that he was right. It’s a very,  _ very _ good cloudberry.

“I will be frank with you, Chief Hakoda. The world is a mess and the vast majority of it is our fault.” Fire Lord Iroh sips his own tea in consideration. “I want no more violence between our people.”

“I don’t want any more either.”

“What would you ask of me?” Fire Lord Iroh asks bluntly. “I won’t lie to you, these things take time and process. But it is...easier, shall we say, to know one’s goals from the beginning.”

Hakoda is  _ definitely _ not gaping at him like a toadfish.

...He’s definitely gaping at him like a toadfish.

Fire Lord Iroh sips his tea and waits.

“Well, first of all, we expect no more attacks on our territory. All waterbenders or Water Tribe people currently in Fire Nation custody are to be returned to their appropriate homes or wherever they would like to go.”

“Done.”

“I can’t speak for the Northern Tribe, but we will need to revisit the marine lines to designate between international waters and ours. Any visiting ships will need to seek permission before entering and prove they mean no harm, at least until a precedence for peaceable conduct is set.”

“Also done.”

That was...ridiculously easy? Hakoda narrows his eyes. Fire Lord Iroh takes another sedate sip of his tea.

“Not to be rude or seem...ungrateful,” Hakoda says and tries, he really tries to keep the suspicion out of his tone but it doesn’t really work. “Why?”

The Fire Lord sets down his teacup.

“Again, I will be frank. The truth is that we have done quite a bit of wrong and I would like to fix it. Nothing you are asking is unreasonable or difficult. I suspect that negotiations with the Earth Kingdom will be far less straightforward.”

Hakoda is inclined to agree with him, despite his determination to hate everything about the man and his ship.

“And also because there is something I would ask of you in return, involving your son—“

The door creaks open and both of them freeze.

A dark-haired teenage boy pokes his head in and Hakoda immediately can’t help but stare at his face, because  _ snow and sea, _ that’s about the nastiest burn scar he’s ever seen in his life.

Fuck.

That must be the nephew. The adopted son. Whatever.

“Uncle, I—“

The kid clearly wasn’t expecting anyone and startles, backpedaling out almost immediately. The door shuts with a click.

“My apologies, Fire Lord Iroh,” the boy says through the door, words stiff and formal and stilted. “I was unaware that you had guests. I’ll come back later.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Fire Lord Iroh says. If Hakoda had thought he was being downright friendly to  _ him _ then, he had no idea what friendly was because the man’s voice goes so gentle that Hakoda can’t believe it came out of a firebender. “Come in and join us, please.”

The door reopens and the boy comes in all the way. He toes his shoes off without being asked and leaves them by the doorway. He’s dressed in soft, casual red and gold robes belted around his waist and doesn’t look anything like a prince.

He sits like one, though, lowering himself delicately to the floor next to the Fire Lord, hands folded stiffly in his lap.

He doesn’t say a word.

“Chief Hakoda, I’d like to introduce you to Crown Prince Zuko. Prince Zuko, Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Prince Zuko bows like royalty too, court-perfect even from a seated position, just enough to give respect without sacrificing his station and shaping the flame politely with his hands. Hakoda nods to him, as is customary.

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon, Chief Hakoda.” The kid’s voice is soft and quiet with a natural rasp to it. “I hope that our hospitality meets your standards.”

Fire Lord Iroh picks up a third porcelain cup and pours for Zuko, passing it to him without fanfare.

“Have some tea, Prince Zuko. It’s been a long time since I’ve brewed a batch of cloudberry.”

Prince Zuko takes a sip of his tea and Hakoda, because he’s definitely Sokka’s father, cannot keep his mouth shut.

“So you’re the one who chased my kids all over the world, then.”

Fire Lord Iroh goes still and his expression sharpens, not enough to look angry, but he is definitely paying attention. Prince Zuko swallows hard, and sets down his teacup onto the table. His eyes stay down.

“I am,” he answers.

“They were so afraid of you, you know,” Hakoda tells him. He remembers seeing Katara and Sokka for the first time in over two years, and all they could talk about was the Avatar and the tenacious, scary firebender that wouldn’t stop chasing them. He remembers being furious about it then, and suddenly he’s angry about it all over again. “They were scared to death of you, and you wouldn’t stop. Did you get what you wanted?”

Prince Zuko flinches hard. Hakoda’s well aware that the Fire Lord isn’t pleased, and he may have very well have fucked off all the agreements that they’d just made, but he can’t help it. He can’t just watch the kid sitting there like everything’s fine, like he didn’t hurt anyone, like he's got the right to not _ care _ . Iroh shifts forward just a tiny bit, firmly stretches his arm out on the table and makes a clear boundary between his guest and his heir.

Before he can say anything, though, Zuko finally speaks.

“No. I wouldn’t say at all that I got what I wanted.” He looks up, and Hakoda’s startled by the unnatural gold of his eyes, brighter even than the Fire Lord’s. “I thought that I was doing the right thing; I wasn’t. And I learned my lessons  _ very well _ .”

Silence. 

“Prince Zuko, I’m feeling rather peckish. Would you mind very much going to the galley and asking Chef Bon if he would have some refreshments sent? He has such a good touch with the manju.” 

Hakoda is fairly certain that Fire Lord Iroh doesn’t give a shit about food right now. The kid looks like he knows it too but says nothing else, just pushes himself to his feet, bows once, and then practically bolts out of the room.

He doesn’t even put his shoes back on.

The door shuts and the calm, quiet air surrounding the Fire Lord is gone almost immediately, replaced with a cold, furious chill. Very suddenly, Hakoda can understand how this one man could hold a siege on Ba Sing Se for six hundred days.

“You overstep, Chief Hakoda,” the man says, very quiet and clearly choosing his words carefully. “The war may be over, and we may be here talking peace, but we are still dragons and we still have plenty of  _ teeth _ . Do not mistake goodwill for compliance, or it will be the very last one that you make.”

Hakoda does not even breathe.

“That boy is my heir, and mine to protect at all times. You  _ will not _ antagonize him here in his home.”

They sit in silence for a good few minutes until there’s a sharp rap on the door.

“Yes?”

The dangerous cold on the man’s face slowly fades.

“You requested refreshment, Fire Lord Iroh?”

It hasn’t been brought by the prince, and Hakoda isn’t surprised in the slightest.

The manju are unfairly delicious.

* * *

Chef Bon is so happy to see him that he loads Zuko up with more food than he could possibly eat, even after he protests that his request is for Uncle, not for him. His protests are waved away with the air of someone who simply just doesn’t give a fuck, and Zuko is envious of it.

He can’t make himself go back to join Uncle, and ignores the little voice that whispers  _ coward _ when he asks a servant to make sure that the Fire Lord and his guests receive their requested refreshments, posthaste. Nevertheless, he ends up with a plate of his own anyway, loaded with enough snacks that he could never eat it all in one go.

He’s sure that Uncle won’t be mad about it.

...Probably.

It’s something he would never have dared with Father. If anything, the man would have sent for a servant himself, and made Zuko sit there and take it for as long as it amused him.

Zuko’s stomach gives an anxious twist and suddenly, even Bon’s daifuku don’t look or sound appetizing.

He pads his way barefoot up to the deck b ecause he’s an idiot who couldn’t even remember his spirits damned shoes, and throws himself into the largest sunspot he can find. It’s right by the railing, and Zuko can see the Water Tribe ship docked right below. 

Zuko sighs and eats a piece of daifuku anyway. It doesn’t really make him feel better, but it’s still delicious.

...There’s a noise behind him, and Zuko goes statue still. The crew doesn’t sneak around like that. He sets down the plate, regrets not carrying his swords everywhere he goes. 

“You may as well show yourself, because I know you’re there,” Zuko growls into the quiet, hands instinctively clenching into fists at his sides.

Someone draws themselves out from where they’re tucked around the corner.

Zuko knows this person.

Sokka stares at him like he’s never seen Zuko before, and Zuko stares back at him awkwardly, wishing that he’d just gone back to his rooms instead. The warmth of the sun is soothing on his spirit, though, and instead of succumbing to the fear he’s become so very used to, Zuko makes a point of closing his eyes and laying back as if he’d never seen him in the first place.

The chief’s son is clearly sneaking; if he’d been allowed to be here then he would be here openly.

Zuko won’t ruin it for him.

He’s sure that the other boy will take the opportunity given to make his getaway but instead, a shadow falls over him and blocks out the sunshine. Zuko cracks open an eye.

He doesn’t like being loomed over.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna tell on me?” Sokka asks and it sounds almost like an accusation. 

“I doubt that you mean any harm, and Uncle Iroh likes you. You being here is an issue between you and the Chief; leave me out of it. Do you mean any harm to anyone on board?”

“What? No! What the fuck?”

Zuko shrugs.

“Then it doesn’t matter to me what you do.”

If he has to, then Zuko will fight. Sometimes it takes him more than once, but he always learns his lessons. It doesn’t mean that he wants to.

He fully expects the other boy to leave him, then. 

He definitely doesn’t expect him to sit down next to him in the sunshine and kick his legs over the edge of the Jasmine Dragon.

Zuko wants to run like hell and can’t make himself move at all, frozen in his own awkwardness and sense of responsibility to do  _ something  _ useful even now. Sokka eyes his plate.

“Shit, are those manju?”

Zuko wordlessly pushes the plate over an inch or two, and the other boy casually takes the offering, popping it into his mouth and chewing with relish.

“Spirits, I love Fire Nation food,” Sokka says absently, eats another without asking. 

Zuko says nothing and stares determinedly at the horizon line where the clouds meet ocean; it’s way easier than trying to look Sokka in the eyes right now.

His stomach twists.

It’s one thing to have a foreign delegate throw his sins into his face, and quite another to have one of them sitting right there next to him, acting like he does this every day and stealing food off of his plate.

Zuko is a fool but not a coward.

Not anymore.

He steels himself and shifts so that he can look the Water Tribe boy in the eyes for the first time, shapes the flame in his hands and bows deeply, so deeply that his forehead nearly brushes the deck.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he loses his nerve, “For chasing you for so long. For all of it. For my foolishness. For my faithlessness. I thought that they were things that I had to do, and I was  _ wrong _ , and I will regret them for the rest of my life.”

It’s not really going to help, Zuko knows. Apologies have never helped him very much, even when he desperately means them and he doesn’t have much hope in this one, but it’s something that he has to do.

The night of the eclipse, he’d planned on leaving, finding the Avatar and his group, apologizing for his misdeeds, and prayed that they would let him help fix the world his country had very thoroughly fucked. Just because the war is over doesn’t mean he doesn’t owe a good number of apologies, and he’s starting with this one, even if it doesn’t help.

It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t help. No one will be able to say that Zuko didn’t  _ try _ .

He will not (cannot) lift his head until some sort of response is given.

A tentative, unsure hand gives his head a poke.

“Can you, uh, sit up? I know it’s a Fire Nation thing, but it stresses me the hell out.”

Zuko obliges and straightens, tries to keep the trepidation off of his face. 

“My apologies,” he mumbles so quietly that it’s nearly a whisper, “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”

Sokka’s eyes are very blue and very earnest when Zuko meets them.

“Look, I’m not...I’m not gonna say that it was cool to do that, because it was pretty shitty, and we both know it. But like...I think you’ve probably been punished enough? Uncle— I mean, Fire Lord—  _ fuck it _ , Uncle, gave us a quick and dirty about what went down and if it were me, I’m not sure if I’d even be able to get out of my bed again.You could have just gone along with things, if you didn’t really care about doing the right thing, but you didn’t. You fought it.”

Zuko has expected resentment, possibly some yelling.

He has not gotten what he’s expected.

Zuko can’t help the hard, rough snort that tears itself out of him against his dedication to maintaining stoicism.

“Fought it? That’s cute. All I did was fuck up...pretty much everything good I ever had in my life, get thrown in prison, and…” 

He can’t say it.

His throat closes, and he can’t say it; can’t say what desperately wants to come out.

_ Murdered my father _ .

The blood on his hands might be justified, but he’s still the only one who can see it. Zuko can’t even get the words out. He can barely even think them.

He doesn’t have to say them, though. The tired, resigned horror written all over his face says what his voice can’t, because Sokka’s expression drops and shifts into something like...not pity.

Sympathy.

Zuko doesn’t even know what the hell to do with that. His insides are cold and twisty and he shoves a piece of mochi in his mouth against his better judgement. It sits like a rock in the pit of his stomach, and Zuko regrets it the moment he swallows.

“Not gonna say you didn’t fuck up, ‘cause we both know you did,” Sokka’s voice is firmly and steadily neutral, as if he knows that any extra emotionality is going to put Zuko in the ground, “Just…I’m pretty sure you’ve paid for it. I don’t know how it works in the Fire Nation but where I’m from and you mess up, you say you’re sorry, and do what you can to make up for it.”

“It works much the same, here.”

Or it’s supposed to. Zuko has found that it rarely works out for him.

“I accept your apology, and I forgive you.”

It…cannot be that easy.

There’s no way that it’s that easy.

“Sokka? What the hell, son? I  _ know _ I told you to stay on the ship with Bato.”

Both boys jerk in surprise and turn.

Hakoda and Iroh are standing by the stairwell leading out to the deck. Hakoda is glaring with exasperation but Iroh’s focus is on his nephew visibly still trying to process Sokka’s easy forgiveness.

“Hey, Uncle!” Sokka waves and Iroh waves back at him.

“We will discuss this later.” Hakoda turns and graces Iroh with a jerky, unaccustomed bow. “Again, Fire Lord Iroh, Thank you for your hospitality and willingness to negotiate. We will be in touch.”

The Fire Lord bows back.

Sokka scrambles to his feet, but not before reaching out and giving Zuko’s shoulder a casual, friendly squeeze.

“It was good to talk to you,” he says. “Thanks for the manju and for not selling me out.” Then he bounds remorselessly over to his father, who frog-marches him down the ladder and back down onto their own boat.

Iroh approaches and settles down on the deck next to Zuko.

“What did you think of the chief’s son?” He asks. Zuko worries his lower lip between his teeth.

“Do you...do you think that I’m punishing myself?”

_ Have I ever really stopped deserving it? _

Iroh softens the instinctual flash of pain on his face as quickly as he can. Not fast enough to keep Zuko from tensing up.

“I think that you’ve been through something traumatic, and that your life experiences up to now have twisted your reactions to it. Recovery is a process—“

“That’s not what I  _ asked _ ,” Zuko snaps. 

Iroh sighs, unruffled.

“That’s not something that I can tell you. All I can say is that sometimes, I think that you put yourself back into that cell, inside your head, because somehow that became the only place that you could feel safe. There’s a safety in that pain, for you. Do  _ you _ think that you’re punishing yourself?”

“...I think that  _ somebody _ needs to.”

The words come out before Zuko can reel them back and he cuts off before he can say anything else and hurt Uncle any more than he already has. And that hurt him, it’s obviously the way his face twitches briefly in a twist of pain.

“Do you trust me, Zuko?” Iroh asks.

Zuko gapes at him.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Do you trust me?” He repeats.

“Of course I do.” Because he  _ does _ , because Uncle is the only person Zuko knows who has been unfailingly safe, whose rules he knows that he can follow, and that don’t change with the slightest breeze or whim. Uncle is steady and consistent, and Zuko trusts that if he missteps, Uncle will at least warn him first.

“Then trust that I can take care of it. Trust that if I think that you need discipline, I will be the one to mete it out. That is not something that you have to do yourself. If I think that you need punishment, then I will let you know. If you cannot trust yourself, then trust in me until you can.”

Zuko shivers like he’s freezing in the warm, summer sunshine.

“You have been mistreated by people who are supposed to love you,” Iroh tells him firmly, “You did not deserve it then, and you don’t deserve it now.”

Something that Zuko didn’t even know was tight and coiled unwinds, then, a relief that he hadn’t known how to ask for and he’s not sure he deserves. It’s a relief so intense that Zuko goes weak with it.

“Trust in me and I will help you to trust yourself. Now, would you indulge an old dragon in hearing about the rest of his meeting with Chief Hakoda?”

Zuko would, in fact, indulge him.

* * *

“So, uh, how did it go?”

Hakoda glares at his son once more, and then glares at his best friend.

“You’re truly an excellent babysitter, Bato. Great job.”

“You could have just let me come in the first place, and then I wouldn’t have had to sneak on board after you,” Sokka comments with an eye roll.

“Who raised you?”

“...Gran-gran.”

That’s a fair assessment, Hakoda has to admit, but the point still stands.

“If Fire Lord Iroh had been any less friendly or the Crown Prince any more prickly, I’m not sure I’d have been able to even help you. You could have—“

“It was  _ fine _ ,” Sokka snaps, straightening and fixing his father with a glare of his own. “I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you?” 

“ _ Yes _ , I did. Uncle’s totally chill unless you fuck around with Zuko, and Zuko was fine sitting with me. Uncle knew it, and the crew knew it. The only person who  _ didn’t  _ know it was you. It’s not like I haven’t, oh, I don’t know, traveled the whole spirits-damned planet cleaning up messes or anything for almost a year.”

And that’s a little more resentful than Hakoda expected, and he stops, really looks at his son.

“...is this about your sister?”

Sokka scowls and looks away, crosses his arms over his chest, and says nothing.

This is definitely about his sister.

“Listen, Sokka, you don’t  _ have  _ to be here. I just thought...well, it’s been such a long time since we’ve really spent time together that I thought that this would make you happy.” Hakoda tries to keep the hurt out of his voice but it doesn’t really work, because Sokka’s too perceptive for his own good and his face goes stricken. “If you wanted to go home, you could do that. If you wanted to join Katara and Aang, you could do that too.” 

That doesn’t seem to help.

“It’s not— it’s not like that, Dad. It’s  _ not _ . It’s just...it’s been hard. Katara doesn’t— Katara doesn’t need my help, you know? She and Aang have got this. They don’t need me tagging along and harshing their groove.” Sokka also really, really doesn’t need to see Aang kissy-facing his baby sister.

But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t chafe at him anyway.

Hakoda smiles wryly.

“I’d meant to talk to you about this a little later but I think it’s time to talk about it now. Fire Lord Iroh had a proposition for me that involves you. We were discussing how much traveling you had done and how many different people you’d met, and he wanted to see if you would like to take a position as a Southern Water Tribe ambassador.”

Sokka blinks at him once, twice.

“And what does...what does that position entail, exactly?”

Hakoda grins at him.

“Well, it would involve a decent chunk of traveling, for one. How did the Fire Lord phrase it? Effectively you would be an international representative of our tribe. That means that you would act as a liaison in the event that I couldn’t be somewhere I needed to be, you would attend political events and functions, and since you’ve seen so much of the Fire Nation proper, you’re the best person to help bridge the gap between the Fire Nation and the rest of the world.”

Sokka’s eyes are  _ huge _ and Hakoda will not laugh at him.

“Uncle...said all that?”

“ _ Fire Lord Iroh _ ,” Hakoda says with emphasis, “Yes. He was quite insistent that you were the best person for the job. I told him I’d offer it to you but if you said no, I’d have to tell him where he could shove it.” He adds.

Sokka snorts.

“You wouldn’t be doing it all by yourself, though, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Stop chewing on your lip if you don’t want to give yourself away. Most of your traveling will be with a representative from the Fire Nation.”

“Who’s that going to be?”

Hakoda shrugs.

“Whoever Fire Lord Iroh thinks is the best person for the job. Think on the offer before you say yes, okay?”

Sokka’s going to take that offer, it’s written all over his face. Hakoda’s heart squeezes a little inside his chest. It feels like just yesterday that his firstborn son was toddling around screaming for him, and now he’s screaming to escape.

Which, to be completely honest, isn’t totally fair..

Hakoda is allowed a modicum of drama in his life.

And because of that drama, he can’t resist one more question.

“What did you talk about with the Crown Prince?”

Sokka stills from where he’s nearly bouncing in excitement, probably mentally packed already. 

“He apologized to me, actually,” he says finally. “Like really, formally for realsies apologized for chasing us around for so long.”

“Was that a surprise to you?”

It had been a surprise to Hakoda, to walk out onto the deck and see his son sitting next to Prince Zuko like they’d been friends for years. More surprising still to see Sokka  _ touch _ him, carelessly, as if his conduct towards royalty didn’t matter. Hakoda would have been lying if he’d said that his heart hadn’t stopped just a little bit, but the kid hadn’t flinched away from his son and Fire Lord Iroh had remained relaxed and friendly, with no sign of murdering Hakoda’s firstborn for touching his nephew.

Sokka mulls over the question.

“Not...as surprised as I thought I would have been before everything happened? Even when he was chasing us, he was a terrible liar, you know? Kind of like when you play cards with Bato and you can tell what kind of hand he’s got because he makes  _ faces  _ at it. Honest, even when it’s inconvenient. And like...Iroh’d been with him for a long time. He was a wreck when he thought Ozai had him for good. A guy like Uncle doesn’t love you that hard unless there’s something worth loving, you know? And he’d fight  _ anybody  _ over Zuko, especially after...everything.” Sokka believes this wholeheartedly, and Hakoda finds that he believes him too.

Especially about the Fire Lord’s protectiveness over his kid.

“Also, Dad, I’ve made up my mind about the ambassador job—“

Hakoda stops him with a hand.

“ _ Please _ think about it for longer than two minutes.”

The answer won’t change, he knows, but he’ll at least have a little extra time to come to terms with it.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which learning to be okay is a two steps forward, one step back kind of deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, y’all get this chapter early! Mostly because I also plan on posting my solstice fic on Saturday, and didn’t want to post two days in a row. This is the final chapter but definitely not the last I’m going to write in this universe. If you liked this, please leave a comment and let me know!

* * *

Now that Zuko’s chi reserves are slowly building back up and he’s not sleeping like a dead man as a coping mechanism, the nightmares are back.

Like shuffling a deck of Lieutenant Teruko’s playing cards, Zuko has no idea what he’s going to get until it starts. 

Sometimes it’s Mom, leaving mysteriously in the middle of the night only this time, instead of telling him that everything she’s done she’s done for him, she throws it into his face. It’s his  _ fault _ , because he’s not enough, that she has to take such drastic measures to make up for his shortcomings. Sometimes she just leaves, then, sometimes someone cuts her down mid-word and she falls, bleeding, and Zuko finds himself holding the blade in his hands.

Zuko always wakes up screaming from that one.

Sometimes, it’s his Agni Kai with Father, and that one is so consistently factual every time that it hurts more, that his brain doesn’t even need to change the events to make it exactly as horrifying as it needs to be. Zuko always surrenders, always  _ begs _ , and Father always burns him.

Sometimes, it’s the moment he betrays Uncle, only this time they execute him instead of taking him prisoner, and Zuko screams and screams until his throat bleeds, the Fire Lord’s fingers digging bruises into his shoulder as he dedicates the victory  _ all _ to his firstborn son.

Sometimes, it’s of starving and wasting away down in the darkness, of being simply forgotten but unable to die, because dying would make it stop. Instead, Zuko remains in those for years and years and years, forgets how to eat and breathe and sleep, forgets how to do anything except desperately want to die.

(Zuko can, upon occasion, be convinced to talk about some of his nightmares with Uncle. He will never, ever say a word about that one. He can’t make Uncle cry over him again. He just  _ can’t. _ )

And sometimes, even though Zuko wasn’t actually there for it, he dreams of Azula. He dreams that he’s released and able to get there before it’s too late, just in time to watch his father wrap his little sister around her neck. Sometimes she’s the armored fourteen he remembers but sometimes she’s ten or eight or six or  _ four, _ and always screaming and crying and scrabbling at Ozai’s hands. And every single time, he snaps her neck and dumps her to the floor like she never meant anything at all to him, like he wasn’t the one who turned her into a monster. And every single time, Zuko  _ loses his mind _ .

He can’t talk about that one either. Not because of the way his throat closes, and all of his words dry up if he thinks too hard about it, but because Zuko is afraid that no one is going to understand that Azula  _ mattered _ . She was messed up and psychotic and needed help that no one was equipped to give, but she was still his baby sister and she  _ mattered _ .

It’s convenient and a relief that in this time of flux and change, no one has to worry about what to do with an unhinged princess. Zuko would have to be stupid not to know. He still doesn’t want to hear it.

So he quietly bleeds over it nevertheless, and keeps it to himself.

Zuko wakes up with tremors in his bones and salt on his cheeks, and Azula’s screams in his head. He scrubs his face with shaking hands and sits up in bed. Despite the blankets still tangled around him, he feels like he’s going to freeze to death.

He slips out of bed and paces a few circles through his quarters, but it doesn’t help, not really. It doesn’t soothe the crawling under his skin or the chill that’s frosting him over. Zuko eventually just leaves his room and walks the ship, quiet as a pygmy-puma. It’s not hard to avoid the few people who are awake, and even if anyone saw him, his former crew wouldn’t be surprised.

More likely they’d be more surprised that he allows himself to be seen.

He doesn’t mean to do it, but Zuko finds himself standing in front of the door to Uncle’s quarters. The man is definitely asleep and deserves to be so. Zuko won’t wake him with his own problems, but he’s  _ so tired _ , and maybe sitting down for a minute won’t hurt.

Zuko slides down against the door and folds his legs up, buries his face in his knees and tries desperately to figure out how to breathe again.

He falls asleep at some point because the next thing he knows, the door is opening and he’s falling.

Uncle Iroh is staring down at him in concern.

“Prince Zuko, are you alright?”

Zuko is not alright. His eyes feel hot and his throat is tight and suddenly, as if brought on with the appearance of his uncle, all he wants to do is cry. Uncle kneels down and helps him up off the floor, shuffles him into his rooms and settles Zuko down into a cushion by the kotatsu. 

He slumps down until his forehead hits wood.

“I think you could do with some tea.”

“....You always think I could do with some tea,” Zuko mumbles and muffles his words into his arms.

“And it has yet to hurt you.”

Zuko doesn’t look up but the sounds of Uncle gathering his supplies, and the familiar process of brewing are so soothing that he’s drowsy and slow again by the time he’s finished, blinking very slowly from where he’s resting his face on the table.

Iroh pushes the teacup into slack hands, and Zuko sips without thinking, only making a slight grimace at the taste of chamomile.

“It will help you relax, nephew,” Iroh tells him knowingly, sipping at his own.

“Still just tastes like grass,” Zuko grumbles under his breath but drinks anyway, resists the urge to drop his head back down onto the table when he’s done.

Uncle watches with a look of consideration and then reaches out to brush Zuko’s hair gently out of his face to tuck it behind his ears.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve fallen asleep at my door, Prince Zuko.” He hasn’t done it since before his banishment, since before his beloved Lu Ten had passed. That he does it now is both heartening and not. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

This time, Zuko does let his head drop with a quiet thunk against wood. He closes his eyes when Iroh reaches out again to stroke dark hair.

“Are you sad about Father?” The words fly out of him before he can pull them back, and the instant they’re out, Zuko wishes that he could. 

Iroh goes very still, and his hand pauses for a split second before continuing its calming, steady motion.

“You ask difficult questions, Prince Zuko. I am sad about who he was to me and who he might have been, in a different lifetime. Despite it all, we were blood. He was always going to be my brother. I was there when he was born and held him in my arms even before our father did. But he was not a good person and the world is better without him in it. He hurt everyone I ever cared for and I could never, ever forgive him for what he did to you.”

“What about what he did to Azula?” Zuko’s voice cracks hard on his whisper and he presses his face into the table so he doesn’t have to look at Uncle’s face. “Doesn’t that matter too?”

Iroh drags in a ragged breath and feels like he’s been punched.

“Spirits, Zuko, of course it matters.” Iroh cannot cry, not right now. He will later, when things are not quite so dire.

Zuko sniffles helplessly into the table.

“It matters, Zuko, I promise. It matters.” Iroh tries to sound reassuring, but the shake in his own voice betrays him.

Zuko bursts into tears.

Iroh’s on his feet in less than a second, comes around and pulls his nephew off the table and into his arms. Zuko goes without resistance, crying silently but so hard that the force of it shakes his whole body, burying his face in Iroh’s sleeping robe.

“You didn’t even care about her,” Zuko snarls wetly through tears, gripping Iroh around his shoulders so hard that it borders on painful. “You didn't  _ care _ , it’s j-just—just  _ convenient _ because now none of us have to  _ live with her _ , and— and—“ he quiets abruptly into horrible gasping whimpers that shoot Iroh straight through to his heart.

He grits his teeth and holds onto him tighter.

“Zuko, I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen well.”

The boy goes very, very still. Iroh forces a single, even breath out through the nose.

“It’s true that I cannot understand the exact sadness you’re feeling. Your sister was...difficult to love, and your father coveted and nurtured that in her, and in choosing you, I could not and would not choose her too. I cannot understand your grief for Azula, just as you cannot understand mine for your father. And I wouldn’t _want_ you to be able to. My brother was your monster but Azula was always going to be your little sister. But that doesn’t mean that it is not _valid,_ and it doesn’t mean that what happened to her was not _wrong_ on every conceivable level. It was wrong no matter the circumstance or who she was.”

Zuko shivers.

“I was so  _ scared  _ of her. All the time,” he whispers. “I didn’t even like her, Uncle. I didn’t even  _ like _ her. What if...fire and ash, what if I’m only sad because Father made her a  _ victim _ ?” That starts up the tears again but they’re less violent this time, just a silent slide of water down pale cheeks. He doesn’t even bother to wipe them. “I’ve been thinking, this whole time, of everything I could have done different, you know? Maybe if I’d been better to her, or tried harder, or— _ something. _ Anything.”

And that opens up an old, scarred over wound that Iroh had thought more healed. His nephew’s words are so familiar that they’re painful.

“I have been known to do the same. Those maybes will make you crazy.”

“How do you  _ stop _ ?”

Iroh shifts his posture to settle Zuko more comfortably against him, swinging his legs over his knees and encouraging him to curl up the way he used to when he was still very small. Zuko’s smaller than Lu Ten was at the same age and fits better than he would if he was bigger, but it doesn’t matter; if he was seven feet tall, Iroh would have held him in the exact same way.

“You find something that you care about, that you will do absolutely anything you have to to protect. And you are allowed to grieve in the ways you feel you need to, but you’re not allowed to forget that there are things you have to care for. That you  _ choose _ to care for.”

“You chose me,” Zuko says softly, sounding exhausted and wrung out. “Mama chose me, too. That’s why she had to go. The only person who ever chose her was—“

“Ozai never chose anything other than himself,” Iroh cuts him off harshly. Zuko flinches, and he softens it by running a hand through damp, dark hair. It’s starting to stick to his face and Iroh brushes it back, lets his fingertips brush the very edges of his burn scar. “He never knew how. Don’t give him that.”

Whoever said that the dead didn’t have power was a liar.

Sometimes the dead have more power than the living.

Zuko sniffles into Iroh’s chest, shifts to press his ear to his heartbeat. He can’t speak but eventually the tears slow and then finally stop. Even so, he can’t seem to make his body get up and move away.

_ Spirits _ , he’s so fucking tired.

Iroh tries to keep his heart from breaking.

“Maybe people can’t care for Azula the way you would like them to, but they can still care for you. Grieve however you need to. If you want to talk about her, you can  _ always  _ come to me.”

_ Come to me for anything  _ is what Iroh wants to say, but that might be too much to put on him. Hearing that would not help him.

Absently, Zuko rubs his eyes with a curled hand, and Iroh hoists him up.

“Here, nephew, come and lie down. You’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

“I can just go back to my room,” Zuko protests even as Iroh pushes him into his bed and tucks his own blankets all the way up to the boy’s chin. “I can’t just take over your bed. You need to sleep too. Your job is hard.”

“It is no trouble. I have documents that need to be read over anyway. If you wake up again and still want to go back to your room, you can. But try and get some rest first.”

Iroh will definitely not be telling him that sleep has been ruined for the night, and he can’t tell him that his own broken heart needs to keep Zuko close to him right now. Instead he sits on the edge of the mattress and pets Zuko’s hair until golden eyes finally drop closed and stay that way. The prince’s breathing evens out into a steady sleep.

Once assured that he’s definitely asleep, Iroh gets to his feet and walks to his library, shutting the door behind him with a click. He makes a beeline for the cabinet next to his stockpile of maps and extracts a bottle of Ember Island’s finest firewhiskey and takes a deep swig directly out of the bottle.

Iroh settles himself down in his chair, takes another drink, and finally lets himself bury his face in his hands to let his own tears come.

* * *

The world goes on, even when Iroh thinks, sometimes, that it shouldn’t.

* * *

There are good days and bad days. 

On the bad days, Zuko can’t so much as drag himself out of bed. He can’t eat and he can’t sleep and he can’t  _ feel _ , just lays silent and still in his bed with his head buried in his blankets. Sometimes he cries without acknowledgement and without a sound, just lets the tears drip down his face and into his pillow until he’s damp and sticky and hollow. On the really bad days, Zuko loses all of his words, and only time can bring him back out of the prison cell he puts himself in.

On those days, Iroh cancels his meetings and does his work in Zuko’s bedroom. He reads over documents and treaties and keeps one hand free at all times to gently rub at dark hair until Zuko comes back to himself or falls asleep, whichever comes first.

Sometimes, Zuko manages to leave his bed but makes a beeline for the highest mast he’s capable of climbing (which, coincidentally, happens to be the highest one they have). He’ll stay up there for hours and watch the clouds and sky, and at first Iroh feared he’d need to put a guard on him. But Zuko never falls and never jumps. Maybe he just likes the idea of having the power to do so if he wishes, should he want to, but there’s not a soul on the ship who doesn’t tense every time he’s up there.

No one relaxes until he comes down.

Sometimes, despite it all, Zuko manages to disappear entirely. 

No one will be able to find him until he allows himself to be found, usually soaked with seawater and with a fixed glare on his face that fools nobody and does nothing to hide the fact that he’s in pain. No one asks him where he’s been but on days like that, Zuko will allow Iroh to rinse the salt out of his hair and ruffle it somewhat dry with a towel until it starts to curl around his ears.

And sometimes, Zuko’s grief comes out in rage and there’s nothing to do but let him take it out on practice dummies and punching bags until he’s exhausted and boneless, and he’s broken everything around him into pieces. He still can’t handle his own flames, yet. Zuko tried once, on a better day, and then it turns into a Really Bad Day, and he hasn’t tried again since.

Iroh will not push him hard on it, yet, but they all know that a bender  _ has  _ to bend. They will cross that bridge when they get to it.

The bad days are really, really bad and all Iroh can do is to try and love him hard enough to get him through it.

On Zuko’s first really good day, he laughs, sharp and bright.

At first Iroh thinks that he’s imagined it. It’s been _ so long  _ (years and years and years) since he’s heard that particular sound, and at first he can’t believe it, until he catches the eye of Captain Jee, who’s trying to tone down grinning like a madman for an expression with a little more dignity.

It doesn’t work.

Zuko’s pulled a puffer-pus off the side of the Jasmine Dragon and gotten a faceful of water for his trouble, and now he can’t seem to dislodge the creature off of his hands. Anyone else might have applied force or even bent fire to get it off but Zuko just gently peels tentacles off of his arms one by one, but every time he gets one off, another sticks right back on until his hands are useless again. The whole while, he chuckles quietly to himself and cajoles and peels until finally, the animal is off and being dropped back into the sea.

Iroh forces himself not to look directly at him.

If he does, Zuko might get embarrassed and then he might  _ stop _ , and Iroh doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s the last time he’ll hear his boy laugh like that.

There are good days and bad days and, eventually, the good ones begin to outnumber the bad.

  
  


* * *

Zuko is not made for inactivity.

Iroh has always known this from the time he was very small, periodically checking in for a hug or a quick cuddle before bouncing off on another’s child’s adventure, but it’s even more obvious now. More than just boring him, inactivity now has the horrible side effect of making the boy’s already aggressive anxiety  _ worse _ .

Zuko is the only teenage boy who can manage to have a panic attack over having afternoon naps be the only thing on his to-do list.

Iroh would  _ kill _ for a few more of those himself.

For Agni’s sake, he’s even taken to harassing his old crew for ship chores. They take it in stride because  _ they’re  _ not surprised by his neuroses, at least, and give him plenty of exhausting, tedious things to do to keep him busy.

That only goes so far and it horrifies the servants from the palace, who keep covertly asking Iroh if he knows that the salty derelict sailors are making the Crown Prince  _ work _ .

The less Zuko has to do, the more anxious he becomes until no amount of sleep or food or rest will suffice. His nephew needs  _ work _ , actual work that means something, Iroh knows. Zuko doesn’t know what to do with himself without a job, and if not given one, he will find one, usually at the risk of his physical or mental health.

Iroh has been Fire Lord for just under three months now, and Zuko has brought himself back from the brink far better than he could have ever expected. The idea he has now has been floating around in his head for a while now, since putting on that crown if he has to be honest, but he hasn’t truly let himself consider it fully, not with his nephew still so fragile. But the fragility is temporary, as it’s always been; there’s been steel in that child since he was born, wrapped up in glass that’s been broken over and over again. 

Iroh steeples his fingers together where he sits at his desk. 

His guests keep asking if he’s  _ sure _ that he wants to have these kinds of meetings in his home.  _ Yes,  _ Fire Lord Iroh is sure. They keep asking if he’s  _ sure  _ that he wouldn’t want a nice office somewhere on dry land.  _ Yes _ , Fire Lord Iroh is sure, because there’s nothing better to put Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom politics on a more even footing than the gentle rocking of the ocean.

Even if someone,  _ somehow _ , started calling him Boat Lord behind his back.

Iroh doesn’t know who it is, but he likes their style.

He summons a servant to go find his nephew, who Iroh knows full well is hanging off the side of the boat by a rope, scraping barnacles off the sides. Captain (formerly Lieutenant) Jee wouldn’t blink an eye at the idea but footservant Jianyu will definitely be mortified by it, Iroh thinks serenely. 

The spike in the man’s heart rate will be good for him.

Zuko shows up a few minutes later, barefoot and salty and slightly damp. There’s definitely a scrap of seaweed in his hair. The physical labor has relaxed him to the point that he doesn’t even fidget in the doorway before coming in and settling down at his preferred place at Iroh’s work table.

Iroh beams at him.

“You needed me for something, Uncle?”

Iroh will never,  _ ever _ ask that boy to call him Father.

“I did, Prince Zuko! I have a very important job that needs doing, and I can’t think of anyone who could do it better than you.”

* * *

Sokka’s got his  _ first _ ambassador job, and he’s trying really, really hard not to bounce on his feet about it. Allegedly, he’s meeting the representative for the Fire Nation in a few minutes and they’ll head together into the caldera to schmooze and make nice with the people, and maybe eat a ton of free food in the nature of cultural mingling and goodwill towards man, and all that. Sokka knows that this is a baby assignment to get his feet wet, but he’s still really, really excited to eat free food on the Fire Lord’s coin.

This is a serious job. An important job, baby assignment or not. A very important warm up, the only first impression he’s going to be able to get.

The world needs to see the Fire Nation as people and not monsters, and the Fire Nation needs to see everyone else as people and not subjects. This might be a baby assignment but it’s not a baby job.

But  _ spirits _ , Sokka loves Fire Nation food.

Sokka really hopes that the Fire Nation rep isn’t a dickhead. He’s pretty sure that Fire Lord Uncle wouldn’t purposefully have him work closely with somebody he’s going to hate, but he doesn’t know how Fire Nation politics work. 

Dad  _ definitely  _ knows who it is, though, because whenever Sokka starts thinking out loud about it, he gets this really funny look like he’s swallowed a frog and isn’t allowed to just cough it out. Maybe it’s, like, one of the younger generals who was willing to take a demotion over being beheaded or whatever Iroh’s doing with Ozai’s old cabinet?

Sokka is not asking and nobody is telling.

Also Dad is a shit liar and proves it every time Sokka tries to interrogate him about it.

Sokka fidgets with his bag and waits on deck to meet his partner.

The door creaks open, and Uncle steps out into the bright morning sunshine, followed closely by Zuko, who looks weirdly shy and definitely...nervous?

“Ahhh, good morning! You’re right on time!” Iroh proclaims cheerfully.

“Morning,” Sokka replies, looking around. “Where’s, uh, where’s the other rep?”

Iroh  _ beams _ and physically pushes Zuko forward, so enthusiastically that the other boy almost trips over his own feet.

“You’ve met my dear nephew, Prince Zuko. Or should I say, Ambassador Zuko, representative to the Fire Nation.”

Sokka’s jaw drops.

This has got to be a cosmic joke? Some prank of the universe?

More like prank of the Fire Lord, because Iroh is grinning like a crazy person, and Zuko is just staring anxiously around like he’s suddenly having a lot of regrets about a lot of his life choices. Sokka feels a tingling of kindred spirit with him for the first time, in that moment.

Uncle, you  _ shifty _ old dragon.

Uncle gives Zuko another gentle nudge and finally, the other boy looks up, raises his hand in a flat, possibly-serious-but-also-maybe-sarcastic wave.

“Hello, Zuko here.”

* * *


End file.
